


We Have Everything But Time

by Catchclaw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi, Psychological, Reboot, Schmoop, Season/Series 07, Wincestiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another take on the beginning of season seven. What do you do when it's over? When you've won, again. Finally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Have Everything But Time

As soon as they were sure that Cas was really Cas again, they drove.

Dean bundled them into some PoS Explorer they found outside of Sioux Falls, left the Impala on blocks inside Bobby’s garage, and handed Sam the keys.

“Just go,” he said, his hands caught in Cas’ trench. “Just fucking drive, Sam.”

So Sam did.

Dean crumpled into the back seat, sat back wary and sad, and watched Cas sleep. He seemed exhausted: his whole body wrung out from Lording, the lines in his face long and jagged and deep.

“I guess smiting takes a lot of you, huh?” Dean whispered, his hand hovering on the seat just behind Cas’ shoulder.

Sam watched them in the mirror. Watched Dean drift steadily to Cas’ side, seatbelt be damned. By the time they crossed into Colorado, Cas had pitched over, his face pressed into Dean’s lap and Dean’s arm tight around his shoulders. Somewhere outside of Boulder, Sam caught a glimpse of Dean’s face, red and shaking, buried in the back of Cas’ neck.

So he drove.

One day into another, and again.

They stopped for gas in Denver, not far from the interstate. Sam shut the door as quiet as he could and lost himself for a minute as the gallons ticked by.

He felt like they should have been happy, should have been celebrating or at least drinking themselves into a goddamn stupor because they’d won. Again. Finally.

Raphael was dead, Crowley a shadow of his former self. Cas had managed to pull Lucifer out of Sam’s head and the bastard was trapped in Purgatory, lost in the flood of souls that Cas had poured back into that very different kind of Pit.

And Cas was himself again, the new God cast out with the rest.

So.

Sam tried reaching for relief, crossed his eyes watching neon flicker in the dark, but relief. It didn’t come.

He saw his reflection in the back window, and damn. He looked bad, like you do after a flu, when your body can’t quite remember how to be well again. He knew he wasn’t sick anymore—none of them were—but neither were they healed.

Dean started when Sam turned the engine over. Sighed. Snuffled into Cas’ hair and fell back beyond.

So.

Sam drove through to the next dark, until his eyes were crossing, until his head was full to burst. Pulled into the first motel he saw, blurry, over the Utah state line.

He got Dean up enough for them to grab Cas and haul him to the door and through.

Inside, they didn’t bother hitting the light.

Sam battled his laces, heard Dean muttering to Cas, something gentle and low. Heard the trench hit the floor, the rustle of clothes. The familiar thud of Dean’s boots chasing after.

He stuttered under the covers and slept.

In his dreams, they were someplace green and quiet. He was leaning against a fence, the wood rubbing splinters into his back, the flowers blowing kisses to the wind. Dean was shouting at chickens, waving his arms and chasing a big black one in circles. Cas was pitched over in the grass, laughing, his face broken beautiful in the sun.

It was idyllic and weird and hazy, like a dream should be, like they could be, now that they’d won. Finally.

He woke up with a start, black feathers flying through his eyes, and took a minute. Tried to figure out why.

Heard Dean—

Weeping.

And it was like he was on automatic, then, his body moving without thought, falling on the other bed and reaching, pulling Dean into his arms and feeling Cas just beyond.

His hands swept down, past Dean’s elbows, found his wrists and pressed both their hands into Cas’ chest. Cas, whose breath was steady and strangely soft, just a little flutter behind his ribs that flapped up into their hands. Gentle.

Sam’s lips found Dean’s neck and tasted tears, felt Dean shaking, felt him falling apart, steady. Piece by piece, green shards into Cas’ hair.

And Sam felt like he was standing on a cliff, or peering down at the ground from 30,000 feet, that little wobble in his knees that reminded him how much he had to lose. How much he wanted to jump, all at once.

“Came close,” Dean whispered, his voice a stone between them. “Came so fucking close to losing him, Sammy.”

“I know,” Sam said, more movement than sound.

Dean turned, his mouth unsteady against Sam’s throat.

“And you,” he said. “Almost lost you, too. Again.” He made a sound that Sam didn’t recognize, couldn’t name. “I couldn’t have lived through that. Not—not again.”

“I know,” Sam repeated. “I know, Dean.”

He tipped his head a little, just enough. Brushed his lips over Dean’s. Tasted coffee and fear and love. Dean made that sound again, pushed it between Sam’s teeth and opened his mouth.

It wasn’t easy or sweet. But it wasn’t a battle, either, more like an exploration of something familiar, a space that was always already known.

Dean turned his head and Sam fell in, deeper, his tongue turning over Dean’s, catching it, teasing it, leading it over Dean’s lips and into Sam’s mouth until Sam was sighing, shifting against Dean’s back.

Their arms were still locked around Cas and the angle was weird and so was the angel, but.

Yeah. It was good.

Sam stepped back from the edge and let himself breathe, let himself be right there and then.

After a while, Dean leaned back and Sam got a look at his face, cut up by shadow and exhaustion but warm and a little stupid and so much _Dean_ that it hit Sam hard, how long it’d been since he’d seen that face. That little swagger and smile and relief. That’s what it was: relief.

“So,” Dean murmured. “We won.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I guess so.”

Dean turned his head, pressed a kiss into Cas’ hair.

“Now just gotta get Sleeping Beauty back to the land of living. Give him a chance to rest.” He leaned back, let shoulders dig into Sam’s chest. “Maybe we should go to the beach. A beach. Someplace warm. I think he’d like that.”

“Hmm,” Sam said, feeling his eyes fall, feeling sleep sneaking up behind him. “Think we should go someplace green.”

Dean snorted.

“Green?” he muttered. “Ok, Kermit. Where’ve you got in mind?”

“How about Iowa?” Sam said, without really knowing why.

Dean shifted in his arms, rearranging Cas and resetting their hands. Pushed them tight into Cas’ waist.

“You been watchin’ _Field of Dreams_ again, Sammy?” he chuckled. “I hate to tell you, but if we built it, ain’t nobody gonna come, that’s for damn sure.”

“Both of you,” Cas breathed, all of sudden. “Shut up and go to sleep. You can argue in the morning.”

They both jumped, two sets of arms pulling tight.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, his voice a big bright grin.

Cas hmphed and tried to turn over, tried to squirm away, but Dean laughed and Sam squeezed them both hard until Cas was throughly rumpled and a little pissed.

“Go to sleep!” he barked, aiming for Lordly, Sam supposed, but landing on cranky toddler instead. Which was pretty much right.

“Yes, ok. Ok, baby,” Dean crooned, his mouth over Cas’ jaw. “Ok. All right.”

“Shut up,” Cas grumbled, but Sam could feel him arching, turning his body into Dean’s, those long cold fingers fast over Sam’s own.

So.

In the morning, they drove.

In a week, they found the green.

And in time, they healed.

**Author's Note:**

> For caligulace, by way of thanks.


End file.
